ut the arm, doc?"

"Nothing!" he says. "Wrenched--that's all. Come--help him downstairs,
I'll wait."

I took out a five-case note.

"What do we owe you, doc?" I asks him, hopin' for the best.

"My consultation fee is fifty dollars!" he says, without battin' an eye.

I staggered back against the bureau.

"Every time you see me it's gonna set me back fifty?" asks the Kid,
with tears in his voice.

The doc gives him a cold nod.

"Couldn't I take some treatment by mail?" pipes Scanlan, hopefully.

"Cease!" I says, takin' out the old checkbook. "What's your name, doc?"

"James," he says, "J. T. James."

"What's the J stand for?" I asks, shakin' out the pen.

"Jesse!" butts in Scanlan. "Heh, doc?"

"Do you mean to insinuate that I'm robbing you?" says the doc, frownin'
at him.

"No," says the Kid, takin' the check from me and handin' it to him, "I
don't blame a guy for tryin', but--"

I shut him off and dragged him downstairs before they was any hard
feelin's. We climbed in the doctor's bus and at the Kid's request,
Miss Vincent come along with us. Then we went after the road record
between Film City and the Hillcrest Sanitarium. I guess this doctor
was born with a steerin' wheel in his hand, because we took some
corners on that trip that would have worried a snake, and when he threw
her in high, we breezed along so swift we could have made a bullet
quit. Finally, we come to a great big buildin' all hedged off with an
iron fence and if you've ever seen a souvenir post card with "Havin' a
fine time. Wish you were here," on it, you know what it looked like.

The doctor tells me and Miss Vincent to wait in the office, and he goes
out with the Kid. In about fifteen minutes he's back and calls me over
to a desk. They's a long piece of paper there and he says to sit down
and fill it out, but, after one flash at it, I asked him could I take
it home to work over, because my fountain pen was better on sprints
than long distance writin' and this looked like a good two-hour job.
He gives me another one of them North Pole stares and remarks that if
the thing ain't filled out at once, the Kid won't be admitted to the
sanitarium.

"He's in now, ain't he?" I comes back.

"Yes!" he snaps. "And he'll be out, if that paper isn't drawn up
instantly!"

Miss Vincent giggles and hisses in my ear.

"They say the child is in London!" she pipes. "Sign that paper, curse
you! We are in his power!"

Well, I seen